


something about comfort

by sinisterkid92



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, garcy, mentions of lyatt, soft trashking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinisterkid92/pseuds/sinisterkid92
Summary: after 2x05, Garcia comforts Lucy





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick little something I put together. Hope you like!

It was strange seeing him domestic, insisting he would be the one to do the dishes after watching Wyatt doing them one morning. Flynn had his method and it worked. She’d seen his jaw tense and flex as he watched Wyatt with growing agitation. No, it had to be done his way otherwise it wouldn’t be right. Like the rest of them she supposed that was what he knew he could control. It was his area. Cleaning. 

For Lucy it was the books, the ever changing history and the books that came with it. The more she read the more she felt like she could overcome the mountain. The words would start to bleed together but she insisted anyway. That was her mountain. For Rufus it was fixing the lifeboat and the never-ending list of things that needed to be fixed. Wyatt exercised, sitting still was the enemy. Though since Jess arrived he’d done less of that and more of trying to fix whatever was missing with his once dead wife. 

Focusing on Flynn was easier than thinking about Wyatt. Because of course. It all slipped away, like sand through her fingers she couldn’t hold onto anyone or anything. One by one she was left behind by the people in her life, her failing them or them leaving her. Amy, the family she once thought she had with Henry, her mom, her teaching, and now it was Wyatt. 

She wanted to lie down and give up, cry until she was all dried up and couldn’t cry anymore. Cry until she fell asleep from exhaustion and then wake up and cry more. All she wanted was to stop fighting, to return to being blissfully unaware. Selfishly she’d take her sister back in an instance even if it meant that Rittenhouse remained – no, no she wouldn’t, she caught herself. She wished she was that selfish because then it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Watching Flynn reminded her of why she wasn’t giving up. In it all, between being kidnapped by her mother and then her mother trying to have her killed… Flynn was there. Flynn knew without knowing that she and Wyatt had something. What that something looked like in a universe where Jessica was alive she didn’t know. What kind of person was Wyatt in that universe, was he the one she knew or someone else?

It frustrated her that the rest of them had a different memory of who the three of them were and who they were together. A dead wife and a wife who was alive changed a lot. She wished she had the memories of the universe where Jess was alive, because maybe then it would hurt just a little bit less. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her then when Flynn became her ally. Sort of. He quietly stood by her side whenever she needed it, giving her the space she needed while also understanding that she didn’t want to be alone. He understood, more than anyone else, how it was to be this deeply entrenched with Rittenhouse. Knew the sorrow of losing the ones he loved most to them, being robbed of the possibility of ever getting them back. Even if he refused to acknowledge it she knew that he understood by now. His family was not going to return. 

So, she watched him soft and domestic. A year ago she never would have been able to picture him like this. When they met at the Hindenburg she thought he was a monster, someone who’d killed his family and was out to destroy America for sinister purposes. How little she knew then. Then, when he tried to be cruel and brute, proving himself as the enemy he wanted to be after she prevented him from killing John Rittenhouse, she’d seen a glimpse of this. When he thought she’d fallen asleep on the bed (after carefully helping her get out of the uncomfortable late 19th century clothing) that he’d adjusted the blanket on top of her shoulders, stalling for a moment to watch her sleep. 

She was the only one who’d been allowed to see that side of Flynn before. She knew it weirded the rest of the inhabitants of the bunker out, but Lucy got used to it quicker. It was strange but not too strange. 

After the JFK fiasco, and her giving Wyatt the go-ahead to fix things with his wife (all the time they’d known each other she knew he wasn’t over her still but she thought that maybe with time he could move on to her but they never got that time), Flynn’s constant presence and support was exactly what she needed. He wasn’t exactly the girlfriend she could rant to or give a shoulder to cry on, not that she’d ever had that friend or desired it, but he was there and that counted for something. When Wyatt had Jessica and Rufus had Jiya, it was nice to have someone just in her corner, too.

It became their thing, lounging in the sitting area late in the nights when the rest of the inhabitants had turned into their own rooms. It was never planned or agreed upon, they just kept showing up each night until it was a routine. 

It was just days after he’d come back after the JFK incident that she finally got the courage and energy to ask him, ask him what he remembered her as because she didn’t know who she was anymore. 

“In the timeline that you… where Jessica was still alive, were we all the same then?” It was weird, knowing that there were people who had experienced you differently than you lived. People who had memories of you doing and saying things that you’d never done. Who knew you as someone else completely. 

“You want to know if you and Wyatt were a thing even then?” He didn’t move a muscle, his voice monotone as if he didn’t care at all – but she knew better, she knew he cared. He wouldn’t be there otherwise. “You do know I wasn’t exactly in the best position to tell one way or another?” 

“You seemed to have some pretty astute observations regarding us before,” she muttered, “didn’t hinder you then.” The beers were a welcome addition to their fridge, stocked up and chilled at all times with the unspoken rule that they’d only have one at a time. After all, they were always on call. She took a long sip, wishing it was stronger and that there was more of it. 

“Why does it matter?” This time his voice had more of an edge to it, that edge that she was familiar with. One that you could cut yourself on if you were not careful. She knew how to maneuver around that edge though, knew that it was just him posing, protecting himself lest someone or something get too close. “It’s the Wyatt you know that’s here now.” 

She picked at the label for a few beats, wondering if she should just let it go. It was true, she didn’t have to worry about him remembering things she didn’t, or that she remembered things that he didn’t. They both remembered that night, the almost times before them, too. 

“I just… I want to know if he wanted me because he couldn’t have her, or if he actually had something… genuine with me. Was I the consolation prize? An option he saw only because she wasn’t one?” She rubbed at her brows. “I know that he was married here and that I should be wishing that he was this faithful and good man that I want him to be, who didn’t have anything with me… But, I also can’t help but wonder.”

Flynn’s eyes were soft on hers, so soft that she knew that when she rested her head against his shoulder he would wrap his arm around her and squeeze her to his side. He was so many sharp edges but with her he’d always been soft. That was one thing that never changed. That softness in him. 

He wanted to tell her that no one is an option, that Wyatt shouldn’t have started anything until he was ready to leave his wife fully in the past. No one should go into anything with half their heart somewhere else, especially not with someone who needs and deserves someone wholly committed (he also wanted to say that while he would always grieve his wife and daughter and knew how difficult it was to move on, he knew his life with them was over and he would commit to her completely if she ever wanted him) – but he didn’t dare. Those were not words a man like him said. Moreso, he was a man of action and not of words, so he rubbed her shoulder and held her tighter. 

He kept trying to find the right words to say but minutes passed and nothing appropriate came to mind. Her shoulders started to shake from the suppressed tears that she tried so hard to hold back, keep silent. How did you console a human being who was broken in more ways than one? There were no words that could help. Just…

“I’m here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add something to this, after seeing the sneak peek of 2x06 I thought this addition suited quite well. I really, really, like the idea of Flynn comforting Lucy because he is just so damn good at it and he knows what she is going through! 
> 
> but uh
> 
> BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR 2X06

The mention of the bottle of vodka was low. It wasn’t a proud addition to her nightly routine but in the absence of alternatives it was the option she had. She’d tried to sleep without it. Tossing and turning as her heart felt like more and more like a blackened lump in her chest pressing on her lungs. Whoever said that sadness felt like the chest was emptied of a heart was wrong – her heart had never felt bigger or more bruised. 

If the circumstances were different. If her sister had died, her mother had shunned her, if she had killed someone in self-defense and her almost something maybe-boyfriend dumped her for his ex wife there was therapy. There was counseling and medications, and people she could talk to about it. There was no counseling for her sister being erased, her mother belonging to an evil organization out to destroy America and wanting to kill her, for killing one man to keep the timeline intact and murdering another to be given the chance to destroy the same evil organization. Nor was there therapy for being ditched by the man she started having feelings for because his wife returned from the dead.

A bottle of vodka had to do. 

She already knew it was a poor decision to make. It could easily spiral into something she couldn’t control, something that wasn’t just a few glugs after Jiya fell asleep. She had control now, but would she know when that control was gone? 

Fucking Flynn and his ability to read her. He did know her, he probably did know her better than most – but admitting to that would open a can of worms she did not want to opened. She wasn’t there yet. She opened up for Wyatt and look where that left her. It was unfair of Flynn to demand anything of her now. 

“What do you want from me Flynn?” she bit back, she didn’t want someone who expected or wanted things from her. She couldn’t do it. Not now. Her heart was screaming in her chest she was so tired. “You don’t know me.” Just because he read what she wrote down – if he even did. Maybe that was a lie. Right now she hoped it was because it means things she wasn’t ready to face. 

“Well, I guess we’re having our own awkward moment right now.” They stared at each other. Two people, stubborn to the bone unable to acquiesce one millimeter of control. That was what he admired about her, that inherent strength that even in her most vulnerable and weakest moments never faltered. There she was, sitting on the bed staring up at him, trying to hide any sign of that heartbreak and sorrow he knew lurked underneath. Even without the journal he’d know it was there, it angered him that he was the only one who could see the pain she was in. The other option, that they were ignoring her pain, angered him even more – he chose to believe that they were just simply too wrapped up in their own shit to see what was clearly written on her face even as she was playing strong. 

If he knew he would get away with it he would have given Wyatt the punishment he deserved for hurting Lucy already. But Lucy would never forgive him if he did that. 

“I don’t get it, why you act like you care for me.” She looked away, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “One day you’ll have your family back. Just like Wyatt.”

His eyes softened, shoulders slumped as he realized the reason for her hostility. “We’ve talked about that Lucy.” Her eyes snapped up to his again.

“You might think you’re ready to move on, but it’s easy to think you’re ready to leave them and another thing entirely to actually do it.” A part of her wanted to shake him, to shake sense into him and wake him up from the delusions he was having. There was no way he’d leave his wife and his child behind once they came back. She couldn’t even imagine how hard that would be. “If Amy came back I’d leave, never come back. Wyatt did that, I would do that, and you would too.”

“It’s a bit different for me.” His voice was gruff, reluctant at the change of focus to him. “Jessica was always married to a soldier, and Wyatt still is. Lorena didn’t marry the person I am now, I am not the same man I was when I was Iris’ father.” Energy seemed like it had drained from him, as it had from her, and he sunk down to sit on the bed next to her. “Iris was five years old when she was killed, if she came back now she’d be nine and I would have missed almost half of her life. Have no memory of who she is and what she likes. I’d be a terrible father.”

“A father is better than no father,” she reasoned, earning a deep sigh in reply. 

“No, it’s not,” he said. “Just look at Wyatt, your biological father, or my own father.” He chuckled sardonically. “From what you’ve written in the journal it appears the only who’s had a decent father is Jiya.” 

“It’s unfair.” He hummed in agreement. “She’s supposed to be dead but he gets her back, and Amy is supposed to be alive but she was never born. He gets everything he ever wanted and I… I get nothing.” 

They sat next to each other in silence for a while, the bed squeaked under his weight, each trying to not let the jealousy of Wyatt’s happiness get a hold of them. They knew they had time, for once they could take it easy and not worry about what was going on outside. This was on Rufus and Mason for now. They could get some sleep instead. Without that vodka bottle though she was unsure how easy sleep would come. At least she wouldn’t wake up with a headache in the morning. 

“You’re angry,” he said after a while. “It’s easier to be angry than to… deal with it all.”

“I am dealing with it,” she said, jaws flexing again as anger rose inside of her. For him to suggest that she wasn’t dealing with it, it was inescapable because it was always in front of her dangling possibilities and lost opportunities.

“Drinking the pain away isn’t dealing with it.”

“Well neither is killing everyone that gets in your way,” she bit back. For a moment he looked defeated, shoulders slumping in on himself making him so much smaller and vulnerable, the lines on his face looked graver – deeper as if cut into stone. She wanted to take it back but she also didn’t, because it was true. He wasn’t one to speak on how to deal with grief and pain.

“You keep a tally in the journal,” he said. “When you start writing it there is a tally in the lower corner of each entry. It took me a while to piece it together… You start keeping a tally of how much you drink, to tell yourself that you have it under control. You try to keep yourself to four drinks a day but it gets more and more as time goes on.” He wished he still had the journal, missed the weight of it tucked into a pocket pressed against his chest. Sometimes his fingers itched to look through it, he’d reach for his chest only to find the pocket empty. 

“That could be anything…” she started, but stopped herself. “It just hurts too much.” She wanted to claw her heart out some nights, to stop the pain. Every time she saw Jessica smiling and happy it just hurt too much (and while she was happy that Jessica was alive, because of course, and Jessica seemed to be a wonderful great person who Lucy could never hate… it still hurt).

“I know.” He remembered losing Lorena and Iris, fleeing from his home in panic trying to catch the men who’d done it. He remembered his co-worker calling him and telling him not to come back because the police liked him for their murder. As he fled to Chechnya Lorena’s family had taken Lorena and Iris from the country Iris knew as her home to the US to be buried. He hadn’t been able to go to their funeral, hadn’t been to their graves until just last year. The pain of losing them was enough, but the pain of being accused of their deaths and being denied to chance to say goodbye made it all the more painful. It wasn’t until he visited their graves that he felt like he could start saying goodbye. Lucy would never have that chance with her sister.

“Does it ever stop?” Once he saw her face, long and teary-eyed, he immediately pulled her into a hug, crushing her against his chest. This was what he wanted those long years on his own, for someone to hold him as he fell apart. There never was that person for him, but he could be that person for her. 

“You get stronger, it will be less acute and you won’t always remember the pain, but sometimes you will and it will hurt a lot, but you will learn how to live with it,” he murmured. “It won’t always hurt like this.” 

Maybe it was because Flynn was a father and that was why his hugs gave more comfort than any other hug she’d received in her life, either way she clung onto him. She wouldn’t open up to him anytime soon, not in that way she could feel brewing between them, but she was grateful he hadn’t allowed himself to be pushed away. That he stayed.


End file.
